It’s Not You, It’s The Table

A few weeks ago, JSlow’s husband accompanied us to our annual holiday “Ladies Who Lunch” cocktail and food-fueled day of shopping. When JSlow, looking swanky-cool in her leather/fur/silk/snake ensemble, slid into the booth beside me, her husband shot her a disapproving look, shook his head and exclaimed:

“It’s not you, it’s the table.”

What?

The “table” just didn’t look good on Jslow. Its awkwardly elevated height, cutting her off just below the boobs, produced a matronly, dowdy, squat silhouette (Fig. 1.)

A little later in the day, a few blocks away in Cielo on Fillmore, Jslow plopped down on an inviting, soft leather chair. The low height caused her knees to lurch up and out, creating yet another unflattering configuration of Jslow’s anatomy and outfit (Fig. 2.)

“It’s not you, it’s the chair.”

It’s bad enough that we have to worry about unflattering attire, to wit:

It’s one thing to worry about things we can control, like what we put on our bodies (what we put “in” our bodies is another story.) But to worry about things we encounter out in the world, that we have no control over whatsoever, is just too much. Should we shoot for soft lighting and slimming sofas when we choose restaurants and other destinations?

For now, I think I’ll jump into bed and pull the covers over my eyes. But wait…does this bed look good on me? Does the duvet clash with my scowl? Do you have any tips or advice for decor to ditch — and dive towards? We’d love to hear.

About BSB

We are Blank Stare, Blink. Two wives, mothers, sisters, daughters of coaches, products of public schools and suburban homes, women of a certain age who blog about our lives as lovers of fashion and style, and haters of anyone or anything that stands in our way of feeling good about who we truly are, which these days happens to be Father Time – to whom we give the finger!